Raj had learned long ago that night was quieter when you didn't belong to anyone.
The mall was officially closed, but lights still burned behind glass—emergency strips, security panels, the dull glow of advertisements looping for no one. His mop slid across the marble floor with a soft, wet sound, echoing farther than it should have.
He liked that echo.
It meant no one was close.
Raj worked the night shift cleaning crew. No uniform worth remembering, no ID badge anyone ever checked. If he disappeared one day, the supervisor would probably assume he quit. That suited him fine.
People asked questions in the daytime. At night, they mostly avoided eye contact.
He finished one corridor, rolled the bucket forward, and checked the time on his phone.
2:47 AM
Too late to be early. Too early to be morning.
Raj leaned the mop against the wall and rubbed his eyes. They burned—not from chemicals, but from lack of sleep. He hadn't slept properly in weeks. Not because he was tired. Because he was afraid to close his eyes.
Dreams had a way of staying longer than they should.
He told himself it was stress. Everyone blamed stress for everything. Headaches, forgetfulness, that constant tight feeling in the chest. Stress was a word that meant nothing and explained everything.
He pushed the thought away and kept working.
The mall smelled faintly of disinfectant and old air-conditioning. Somewhere far above, metal creaked—cooling ducts adjusting to temperature changes. The sound traveled strangely, bending around corners, arriving late.
Raj paused.
For just a moment, it sounded like water.
Not splashing.
Not flowing.
Something vast, moving slowly.
He shook his head. Lack of sleep again.
By three-thirty, his section was done. He signed the sheet, dropped the mop in the utility room, and stepped outside through the service exit. The city greeted him with a muted hum—distant traffic, a stray dog barking, the faint buzz of power lines overhead.
Normal.
Everything looked normal.
Raj started walking. He lived close by. A small rented room above a closed tailor shop, cheap enough that no one asked questions and the walls were thin enough to hear the city breathing.
As he walked, his phone buzzed with a notification. A news alert.
> "Minor flooding reported in coastal regions. Authorities assure no cause for concern."
He stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Then he locked the phone and kept walking.
At his room, Raj washed his hands, changed his clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't lie down immediately. He rarely did anymore.
Sleep came whether he wanted it or not.
When it finally pulled him under, it did so without warning.
---
There was no sound at first.
Just gray.
Then water.
Not falling—rising.
Buildings stood like teeth half-submerged in a silent mouth. Streets were gone. Cars floated, empty. The sky had no sun, no clouds, just a dull, colorless ceiling pressing down.
Raj stood somewhere he couldn't identify. He didn't feel wet. He didn't feel afraid.
He felt… late.
Far away, something moved beneath the surface. Not fast. Not slow. Patient.
The water kept rising.
He opened his mouth to speak—
And woke up gasping, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Morning light leaked through the curtains. His sheets were damp with sweat. His head throbbed.
Raj sat there for a long time, breathing, waiting for the feeling to fade.
It didn't.
He whispered to the empty room, not sure why.
"…It was just a dream."
Outside, the city went on with its day, unaware of anything wrong.
Raj picked up his phone.
The same news alert was still there.
He didn't delete it.